Chapter 5
Chapter Five
TRISTON
A nother unrecognizable remix plays over the speakers in the bar, the nasal tones of the singers worse than the added heavy synthesizer, and the urge to just walk out rushes through me yet again.
Instead, I take another long drink of the stout I’ve been nursing for the last half hour and allow my eyes to close.
By all accounts, I should be the one celebrating the hardest given just how good of a score Shadow gave me, and yet that pounding ache is forming behind my eyes again, and my skin feels way too damn tight on my bones.
I check my phone. Another ten minutes until Tyler’s mandatory celebration requirements are satisfied and I can retreat to my hotel room where there’s darkness and no horrid pop remixes.
Tyler’s convinced my social media needs to stay updated—curated but down-to-earth, whatever the hell that might mean.
And while he is the expert on those types of things and has been managing the various platforms Lance built for me at the beginning of going professional full-time two years ago, I almost told him I wasn’t up to it.
Except that would require I admit to him that I’m nearly in heat.
It’s a miracle he hasn’t noticed up to this point given that he’s also an Alpha.
Maybe being surrounded by a ton of them in the competition and now here in this bar whose name I’ve already forgotten is helpful.
He disappeared about twenty minutes ago, wedged between two buckle bunnies.
Sean drops into the seat beside me just as I set the beer down again. He tips his hat in silent greeting and then orders a beer lighter than the belt buckle I just won.
“Good job, kid! Hell of an honor watching you earn that buckle!” He practically yells to be heard over the thumping music, and that makes my head ache even worse than the awful metal fencing at the arena.
I smile and lift my beer.
“I help with a non-profit in Nashville,” he continues. “They give at-risk kids access to training and competing in local livestock competitions. Wanted to see if you’d be up to making an appearance at one of the junior rodeos this summer with me. There’s a few in June right before the Fourth.”
I swallow the rising desire to hide in a corner and burrow into my flannel. I try to inject my voice with some measure of feigned excitement. “Sure! Contact Lance, and he’ll make sure everything gets sorted.”
Sean’s grin is even bigger. “Thanks, man. There’s a couple Omegas that will love getting to meet you. You’re an inspiration!”
I give a tight-lipped smile. Another couple minutes, and then I need to get out of here.
I’m about ready to scratch my skin off like right before my ride.
I’m nearly positive it’s just overstimulation, that I’m just needing calm and quiet and the artificial vanilla that’s long since worn off my shirt cuffs.
Sean must be at least a couple beers deep already because he doesn’t notice my discomfort at all.
Or maybe my suppressors are working better than it feels like they are at the moment.
Either way, the small reaction is enough to have him turning back to the bartender.
Not even a minute later, a woman about my age sidles up to us both.
I turn away from her, drinking most of what’s left of my own dark beer.
The neon sign on the wall just behind the bar glows bright enough my eyes ache, but it’s my lifeline to knowing I only have five more minutes.
I survive eight seconds on the back of a nearly two thousand pound animal every weekend. I can survive five minutes at this bar in the heart of Oakland.
“Well, hey darlin’,” Sean says, letting his Tennessee roots out.
He’s nearly as loud as before, leaning back so his elbow is propped on the bar top, his beer held in a casual grip that has me halfway concerned he’ll drop it.
The woman blushes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze flashing to me for a heartbeat.
“That’s a gorgeous dress. You wear it just for me? ”
The woman giggles, her flush spreading down her neck.
Sean’s brandy scent overpowers the various smells of the bar, curling around me as much as the woman.
She doesn’t respond to the pheromones lacing his scent that give away his interest in hooking up and have my own breath trying to catch in my throat despite never once being interested in fucking Sean. She’s definitely a Beta.
Good for him. Maybe with him very clearly interested in her, none of the other buckle bunnies circling the bar like vultures will have the nerve to approach us.
I let my shoulders relax and finish the beer, grimacing through the bitterness that’s worse than usual.
God, my head is pounding. The woman giggles as Sean confidently palms her waist, pulling her between his spread knees.
His brandy scent grows even thicker, and a shiver runs down my spine in ominous warning.
Damn it all, that double dose of suppressor apparently wasn’t enough to push back my heat at least a couple days.
I need out of here. Now.
I stand without any kind of tact, pulling cash from my back pocket and dropping more than is really necessary on the bar top.
Sean frowns, glancing away from the woman practically climbing into his lap.
His hand palms the back of her neck, keeping her pressed against him even while his attention isn’t directly on her.
Another shiver has me swallowing down an inelegant noise and shoving my hands into my pockets to hide just how much they’re shaking.
“Triston? You good, kid?” His voice is full of worry, an underlying growl to it that has another shiver racing down my spine.
Someone behind me shuffles closer, bumping into me.
I swallow a whine. Sean says something, but I can’t hear the words over the buzzing in my ears.
No, not buzzing. It’s a growl from behind me.
Before I can turn to figure out who’s upset and why, Sean’s on his feet, the woman tucked between his back and the bar top.
I swallow another embarrassing whine as he steps into me, his hold on my elbow polite and yet somehow proprietary.
“Back off,” he says, nothing but a burly growl. “He’s not interested.”
The growl behind me only gets louder, and a large body presses into my back, a heavy hand grabbing my shoulder.
A second scent blends with Sean’s brandy, the edge of it burning with his irritation.
My entire body trembles even as my muscles lock and keep me frozen to the spot, trying to keep from attracting any more attention as chatter around the bar dies down.
Despite the noise of the music, it feels like that half-second before chaos and violence ensue and people get hurt.
The heavy bass of the remix pulses through my head. God, I want to vomit.
The person behind me shifts again, the new scent wrapping around me, familiar though I can’t quite place it given how strong Sean’s is swirling around me. It’s… almost watermelon?
All I truly know is it’s not the vanilla I crave in my bones and have for years.
And then, all at once, though it’s never happened before in my eight years of being an Omega, my scent blockers fail. There’s one horrid minute where my clove scent, sour with fear and edged with my suppressed heat breaking through, surrounds me in a tidal wave.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Sean’s entire countenance changes, his cheeks sharpening as he clenches his jaw, his growl so loud it vibrates through me even more than the Alpha behind me.
His eyes are bright with rage and the first edges of a rut.
The Alpha behind me pulls me against a hard chest, watermelon surrounding me in one swift wave.
With a vicious curse, Sean throws a punch toward whoever is behind me.
The buzzing in my ears gets louder, more than just the Alphas growling over my heat somehow managing to break through the double suppressant I took hours ago.
I shrug out from between them, ripping away from both of their holds.
I don’t recognize the other man at all. His eyes are bright with rage, his chest heaving with each labored, violence-laced breath he takes. Sean hits him again.
Screaming comes from behind the bar, someone trying to get a handle on whatever my scent managed to set off.
My hands shake, and another horrible wave of electricity rockets under my skin, all the way to my feet, burning.
My stomach clenches, and the room spins around me.
People rush in my peripheral, multiple people pulling Sean away from the guy I don’t know.
Before I can get a handle on exactly who is where, my vision fades out, and the bar disappears.
I drop to the floor as my body gives out entirely.
A strong set of arms surround me, brandy filling my nose even as my eyes no longer see.
There’s more shouting, instructions and someone screaming for the music to turn off.
“Mr. Harding?” a woman asks.
I try to answer, but my entire body burns with pain. It consumes me, pulling me under before I can utter a sound.